This book began, I suppose, with a duck. Scrooge McDuck, to be exact, whom I discovered one Christmas at my grand mother's house in Ventura, California. Her trove of comics, written by the "Duck Man," Carl Barks, introduced me to the stories of El Dorado, the Seven Cities of Cibola, and the Golden Fleece. I devoured them while sitting on the floor of a living room whose win dows overlooked the distant lights of oil rigs gleaming in the Santa Barbara Channel.On the pathway from that preliminary encounter to this book's completion, I have accumulated innumerable personal and professional debts, for which I can only begin to express my gratitude. I will also inevitably look back at these acknowl edgments and be horrified by at least one omission. Whoever you are, please track me down and insist that I buy you a drink.